The Road Trip Day 2: Foggy Mountain Monoliths
Woke up with yesterday's cloudy skies still hanging around. The coastal air was crisp. We packed up and drove with the windows...
Yosemite National Park, California
May 8, 2015
I woke up to yesterday's cloudy skies still hanging around. The coastal air was crisp.
We packed up and drove with the windows down. Today's journey was less than 200 miles and we had a camping reservation. The goal was to head out early, take our time, and enjoy the views.
Slowly, we gained in elevation. The temperature kept dropping.
Welcome to Fish Camp.
It was cloudy and ominous all day.
Upon arrival at Mariposa Grove, we were surprised to find at least three inches of snow on the ground. Water dripped from the trees, plunking loudly on our car's roof. We each took turns peering through the sunroof watching large droplets splash on the glass.
We got out and took a walk.
It was cold!
Yesterday's overcast delight spoiled me. I hope I brought enough warm clothes for the entire trip.
Caleb Jennings enjoying the cool air at Mariposa Grove.
With temperatures hovering in the mid 30's, there was talk of finding an alternate plan. We were not prepared to camp in the snow.
The decision was to find and rent a room for the next two nights. After all, we are on a vacation.
Headed to Tunnel View via Wawona Tunnel.
After exiting the park, we found a room with a reasonable rate. Camping would have been rough; my sleeping bag is only rated to 20 degrees.
Dinner was Mountain House pasta primavera and a generous glass of whiskey. I lost two cribbage games.
Tomorrow's plan is to hike the Mist Trail.
Hey, want a ride?
Turn it around:
Stick your thumb out:
European Family Vacation Extravaganza, pt. 1
Towards the end of the 2017 summer, the Kernes family took a vacation around Europe. Part 1 takes place in Florence and Rome Italy.
Family Vacation
Family Vacation 2017 - pt. 1
Towards the end of the 2017 summer, the Kernes family took a vacation around Europe. Part 1 takes place in Florence and Rome Italy.
Steven, Amy, Justin, and Adam on the island of Santorini, Greece.
Florence, Italy
Sunday, August 27
Yesterday, after 20 hours of monotonous travel, the entire Kernes family arrived in Florence, Italy. A glorious and full night of sleep helped erode a sizable amount of jet-lag. Breakfast was a buffet with far too many croissants at the hotel, then it was off to see the Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze. Of course, the goal was to see "David". It looked better than the slides from art history class. A bonus was a tapestry made in the 14th century which was easily over six feet long. The level of detail was intense and hard to comprehend. On the way out of the museum, I spied a few electrical boxes with some clever street art. 'Scubadore Dali' was my favorite. Lunch was a ham and Fontina panini with a glass of red just a few blocks away from the Galleria. After, we took an electric bike tour of Florence. The sun was setting while we were effortlessly propelled up the hilly streets. Our tour ended with an aperitivo at La Prosciutteria; creamy peppered-Gorgonzola and kalamata tapenade served on fluffy, fresh bread. More red wine. Satisfied, Mom and Dad bid us goodnight and hailed a cab. Adam and I decided to explore and find more food. After walking around for a few hours, we found ourselves across the street from our hotel. A small carnival which had live music, old couples dancing, and cheap food drew us in.
The usual crowd around Michelangelo's "David".
Close up from the tapestry "Coronation of the Virgin", by Jacopo Cambi.
Various works by Blub L'arte sa nuotare.
Biking along the Arno.
Monday, August 28
Our tour of Il Duomo di Firenze, or those looking for more of a mouthful, Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, was first on the day's agenda. Had a quick shower and hotel buffet before our 9AM tour time. Having walked around for a whole day yesterday it wasn't any secret where we were headed. We arrived, met our guide, received our earpieces, and started our three-hour walking tour of the Duomo. For 445 years, this was the largest dome in the world, and today, it is still the largest masonry dome. It was hard to comprehend a project of this magnitude during the age in which it was constructed. After the tour, we had an opportunity to climb to the top. Adam and I were the last two people for the day—we narrowly made it past the velvet rope! From the top was a panoramic view of Florence as well as the Basilica di Santa Croce. We climbed down. By then it was well into the hottest part of the day. Coffee gelato helped to cool us down. Lunch was a sandwich place, I' Girone De' Ghiotti, who's infamous line we spotted wrapping around the block yesterday. It was well worth the wait. Adam and I split a 5 euro bottle of wine and we all walked back to the hotel to power nap. Three-course dinner at a vineyard complete with wine pairings and ample mosquitoes. That was the only complaint we struggled to find.
Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore from across the Arno river.
Light streaming into Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore.
Basilica di Santa Croce seen from atop Il Duomo.
"In accordance with...the criminal code, whomever defaces or soils property of historic or artistic interest by any means, including but not limited to indelible pen, shall be punished by detention of up to one year, or by fine of up to two million lire."
Adam carries the 5 euro wine.
Tuesday, August 29
Rome, Italy
Wednesday, August 30
Upon waking, it was easy to tell it was going to be a hot day. Breakfast options were slim and expensive so the family decided to chance it and head out early. Today's tour was of the Colosseum; we banked on finding street vendors around the area. Our patience was rewarded with a three euro caprese-style panini. The tour was extremely thorough and went on a little longer than expected. We were left tuckered out having walked around in the 95 degree sun all morning. Everyone decided it was a good time to go back to the hotel for a siesta. Dinner was a planned event that was unfortunately canceled an hour before we were supposed to go. Dad scrambled and did some intense Google searching. We ended up at Osteria 44 which turned out to be my favorite dining experience of the vacation so far. Sergio, our waiter, made the whole night even better with his dry wit and excellent recommendations. We all shared several dishes. Ravioli with shrimp and asparagus, as well as a classic carbonara were our entrees. Osso buco with roasted potatoes and green beans, and sea bass with some sort of spicy creamed spinach were our secondi . Everything was an 11/10. As a family, we wined, dined, and laughed for the whole two hours—a rarity. Dad didn't stop there. It just so happened the highest rated gelateria was a small detour on our walk home. I went with my usual selection of coffee.
Colosseum exterior cross section.
Colosseum interior.
A street in Rome.
Thursday, August 31
Today we had a tour of the Vatican City State. We decided to play on yesterday's luck and leave early in search of breakfast. Once again, we scored and found a quaint cafe. I had a smoked salmon sandwich with arugula and tomato, crust neatly removed, and a cappuccino. The coffee was a transformative experience; more so than coffee usually is. We finished and met up with our tour group outside the city walls. “Customs” was pretty easy. We were through the line in minutes. Unfortunately, we also walked through the expansive museums far too quickly. There was easily enough art to look at for several weeks. Our tour guide seemed to know this as well and tried to cram in as much as possible. The size and grandeur was hard to process. Gold, frescoes, multi-colored marble patterns, statues, every square inch was adorned and bespoke with a level of ostentation I didn't even know was possible. And then we went to Saint Peter's Basilica. For a second, I forgot how hot and humid it had been. The Sistine Chapel was an absolute zoo. Hundreds of people, ourselves included, had their necks cranked upward at the magnificent ceiling. My neck was sore. Our tour ended and we decided to wait out the hottest part of the day in our hotel rooms. At 3PM, we were scheduled for a more relaxing golf cart tour of Rome. We puttered past the Colosseum, Circus Maximus, and the Parthenon. We were dropped off at Saltimbocca for dinner. Meal highlight was a smoked provola and speck pizza. And you best believe we stopped for gelato on our way home.
Vatican artworks and frescos. Most importantly far right; "The School of Athens", by Raphael.
Busy crosswalk at the Colosseum.
Businessman texting outside the Colosseum.
A view across the Circus Maximus.
Sunlight against a brick wall at Giardino degli Aranci (The Orange Garden).
Saint Peter's Basilica as seen through Il Buco Della Serratura (keyhole).
Late-afternoon sunlight in the Pantheon.
Wait, there's more!
Summer 100: #1-10
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines...
Summer 100: #1-10
1/100
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines racing off towards the horizon. Plans are made and futures are speculated upon. Miles tick away and beverages tip empty. And so, it begins.
2/100
A denim-ed viking sits atop his throaty, snarling beast, surveying the great desert lands. A toothy grimace falls out from his sun-worn face as he stares at me through the tempered, tinted glass. He guns the throttle, backfiring loudly, but sputters on ahead of our vehicle. Have any exceptional encounters from your car?
3/100
The vehicle pulls over for a much needed pit stop. Turning down offers for venison-jerky from the cloistered townies, I continue to wander away from the main road, looking for the abandoned shack which had caught my eye from the car. It smelled strongly of “Do Not Enter”. Ever see something from the car window that you just must explore further?
4/100
Bending down to the moistened earth, I gazed over the leathery remains. The flesh has been daintily picked away from the bone, no doubt with help from the beetles which scurried into the fur the moment my shadow crossed them. This wonderful specimen was waiting for us in the driveway at the cabin in Eagle's Nest; welcome back to the woods, kids. Ever see any cool carrion?
5/100
The rocks here, are alive. Several types of pale blue and bright orange lichen engulf the surface of the weathered stone. They share remarkable similarities to sea coral. The blood starts to pool in my ears from invertedly staring at the ground for such a time. I start to imagine the sea floor thriving with life. Fish swimming around in dense clusters, the tide swaying to and fro, the crushing pressure of the water. I stand up and the blood starts to drain from my skull; seems I still haven't acclimated yet.
6/100
The smell of fresh rain and body odor waft through the sunny streets of Taos. Quaint shops sell their tchotchkes to the thriving tourists. The town is an odd mixture of rustic Southwest and vintage urban grunge, even the barred windows have a little design flare. Sunglasses on and iced Americano in-hand, I try to disguise myself from the busking hippies and gentrified window shoppers.
7/100
The stores' diverse wares range from leather crafts and books to eco-friendly kitchen tools and precious gemstones. We wander through the narrow streets and back alleys digesting the afternoon's fare of green chile burgers and beer. There is an inaudible apprehension in the air; the crowds are days away from pouring into the quiet ski resort town. Summer has arrived.
8/100
On the way back home from Taos, we take a detour and stop by the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial Center to take a moment and sit on the benches. Thankfully, there have been a few days of intermittent precipitation, which is unusual this time of year. The dark and heavy clouds have been lingering throughout the day. Looking out upon the sweeping and vast valley, the grass appears greener. Finally, after four years of brown, a little green starts to return.
9/100
The Chase Ranch, founded in 1867 by Manly and Theresa Chase, was home for the pivotal ranching family of Cimarron, New Mexico. They raised sheep, cattle, and planted apple trees which are still growing and producing fruit to this day. Gretchen Sammis, the last living decedent of the Chase's, owned and operated the ranch for the last 58 years. In August of 2012, she passed away and the land was entrusted to Philmont. Today, during the second day of Camp Director training, we got to tour the majority of the house and grounds which had recently opened to the public. There was an eerie silence throughout the spacious but cluttered home; four generations of history under one roof left a distinct and curious smell lingering in the air. I meandered out to the courtyard and garage area, the day's teachings absorbing into me. Note to self: find cattle skulls for O'Keeffe devotionals and decorative purposes.
10/100
One of the last places at the Chase Ranch we visited for the day was the pen and barn area. The fences, which once held back hundreds upon hundreds of heads of cattle, now, are my last source of protection between one beastly bovine and my trampled demise. She incessantly mooed at the entire group until we departed. We come to learn her calf had been sold a few weeks ago – the will of the West. Someone important yells and we head back to the school bus, load up, and take off for home. The raucous bus vibrations send me into a nap-haze as our seemingly endless training schedule unfolds in my mind.
Summer 100: #11-20
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our...
Summer 100: #11-20
11/100
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our last full free-day for several weeks, we hastily threw on civvies, piled into the minivan, and barreled down highway 64 towards ever-popular Taos. The twisting mountain road snaked ahead of and behind me for miles. We rounded a corner and a sweeping view of Mt. Baldy reveals a fresh coat of snow from last night's storm atop its usually stark 12,441' peak; an unfamiliar sight. Our gasoline-powered DJ booth sped onward. The traffic sign seems to be more omen than warning.
12/100
Exiting the winding mountainous road from Angel Fire, we descend into Taos valley, stopping at everyone's favorite pizza joint for some much needed lunch. We chatter and joke, anxious for our Program Counselors who will be arriving tomorrow en masse, bringing with them the start of a second full week of training. First aid training, astronomy training, ATV training, our waitress asks for my order and I am pulled back into the conversation. A warm and quenching summer breeze floats lazily through the cottonwoods, cooling my damp forehead. Our afternoon's grub arrives – pizza, pesto, porter – perfection.
13/100
With a forceful yank, I relieve my sweaty skull from the confines of my glossy black full-face helmet. Our first four hours of ATV training is proving exceptionally challenging and the unyielding sun's rays are not making our lessons any easier. Lunch break arrives and we start the long retreat back to the Dining Hall. My breathable pants *zip-zip* against my ankles while my camera collides with my kidney in-step. A small scurrying raisin/creature grabs my attention. I stooped down to discover this little guy trying to seek refuge from my lumbering shadow. He crawled into the dense grass and proceeded emulate “pebble” with great results. Gingerly with a twig, I coaxed him from his grassy enclosure. Exposed, he froze, most likely admiring his own reflection in my lens two inches away, granting me a few moments for a portrait session. The meatball sub had a hard time matching my level of satisfaction for nailing the shot.
14/100
I feel myself start spiraling into a pit of paperwork, angst, and laundry. It is far too late to be awake. The omnipresent sodium vapor lights bathe everything in a sickly shade of orange. Jittery, I decide to check on the stars and go for a walk to calm my nerves. So far, it seems 75% of the time I look up at the sky, there are clouds, tonight being no different. Distant light from the small town of Springer feebly beams back towards the cosmos. I shuffle back towards the confines of my tent and try to forget about the lack of time and the abundance of paperwork which lies ahead of me.
15/100
The low, scraping afternoon sun begins to set after our second full day of ATV training; only two more days remain before we earn our instructor status. My staff this year mostly consist of first years, my buddy Jimmy being the exception, who worked with me for a few weeks back in 2011 because of the fire closures. Reunited, we are stoked to spend the summer with each other and deliver awesome program. Having someone who understands you and anticipates your next move is a valuable asset to have. As Jimmy and I walk back to the mess hall, we joke about the coming summer. "We're gonna kill it", he says. I agree. Bring it on.
16/100
In a blur, the second training week passes and we find ourselves loading up the suburbans with our worldly possessions en route to Zastrow, our home for this summer. We arrive and I hop out of the vehicle and survey my vast new land; there is much to explore. For now, we must unpack and clean. Everything. After a few hours tackling the kitchen, I take a water-in\water-out break. On my way to find a rock, my eye catches the glimmer of a winged bug. He was sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the path; something didn't feel quite right. I reach for a stick, the tried and true method, and give it the gentlest of pokes. Slowly, he wiggles his limbs. I timidly pick up the stoned bug with the stick and transport him to greener and safer pastures for a little rest. I retreat to do my business and when I return, he is no longer there. Making friends on day one.
17/100
I grab one of my staff, Gordon, and we leave on a small two mile hike to set up our Geocaching course. Although several days have passed since our arrival, the newness of camp has yet to wear off. The diversity of the flora at Zastrow is some of the most unique I have seen across the entire Ranch. We finish hiding a cache and our course leads us to a vista overlooking our entire home. We admire the view for a minute and head down the gully into a shaded patch of old pines. The ground is dense and sponge-like with compacted and decaying needles. I see a branch with a rotted out knot and notice a Gambel oak leaf nestled comfortably inside; something about it seems oddly poetic. I set a waypoint in the GPS. I must return.
18/100
Break-time ends and we leave the grove of trees. Our GPS units take us back out into the open, back out under the sun. The scenery begins changing again as we find ourselves scrambling up the side of an arid rocky hill. The pines and cottonwoods are gone, replaced by creosote bushes and rocky mountain juniper. The hill is very steep now and I turn my attention to the ground. A cactus! Not just one, but dozens of petite, ankle-sized cacti hide all around. Some species are even flowering. I make a mental note to warn all future Croc-wearers who wish to complete the course. Forests and deserts, what next?
19/100
The sun and temperature have both reached their peaks as we finish hiding the tenth and final cache and start our return trip back to the cabin. In a small wash, I notice a bit of blue winking back at me amid the coarse gravel. Crispy like thin jerky, I find an expired Sagebrush lizard who's once brilliant azure stripes have now quickly begun losing their luster under the harsh light. I stand back up and brush the impacted grit from my fleshy kneecaps and jog to catch up with Gordon. A lone cloud lazily drifts by in the late afternoon heat. Hopefully it brings company.
20/100
A dark and ominous gray has been swirling above camp for the last few hours. I put a few paces between me and the cabin, drinking in my surroundings. There's a coolness to the air and the wind has started to shift directions, as evidenced by the flagpoles. Down the road I notice a few visiting staff hiking-in to visit. Their timing appeared to be perfect; there's definitely a storm a brewin'. Our warning is over and a few drops begin hitting me on my scalp. The New Mexico rain is cold, bringing with it hailstones which increase in size before our eyes. The thunderous assault on the tin roof is deafening as the hailstones reach the size of Brussels sprouts. Tree limbs crack and fall under the unrelenting force, a river of water is now surging through our road. As suddenly as it came, the skies finally cease and we race out from under the safety of our porch. My province has been covered in stunning white - limited edition. Jessica and I quickly hurry to the bridge, anxious to see what camp looks like on the other side. The Rayado has grown nearly half a foot during the intense 15 minute storm.
Summer 100: #21-30
After checking out the South side of camp, we about-face and head back to the cabin. Jessica decides to stay while I continue alone to go check on our water tank. Before I start...
Summer 100: #21-30
21/100
After checking out the South side of camp, we about-face and head back to the cabin. Jessica decides to stay while I continue alone to go check on our water tank. Before I start the small assent up the Northern hill, I look past the pair of Ponderosas which serve as sentinels to one of our smoking areas. The ground is covered in large hailstones, a heavy fog clings to the damp coldness near the surface. I exhale deeply and see the ghost of my breath hang before me. The stillness is deafening, interrupted only by the punctuation of drips falling from distant leaves. An unfamiliar June.
22/100
Beetles, moths, wasps, hornets, crickets, spiders, and flies, insects abound at Zastrow. Having electric lights definitely gives away our location, broadcasting beams of false hope to any bugs looking to seek shelter inside our rooms. I quickly learned to leave my lights off and my door closed during dusk, or else suffer through a night of inhaling gnats. Unidentified cicadas can be heard buzzing alongside the river bank during the heat of the day. The large rainstorm which drove back the bugs for a few days has since departed; clear skies are in the forecast.
23/100
The sun begins to set, marking the end to our first full nine-day work week in the backcountry. Already, we have begun experiencing what it means to live and and work under the same roof; not the easiest task, especially for such a young staff. My mind wanders as I bus dinner's dishes, thinking about how meal-time is going to work when campers start spending the night. I gaze out the kitchen window and see a gargantuan creature bobbing his head furiously, each stride gaining on the cabin. As the lumbering beast nears, I quickly realize Carter has come to visit for the night, complete with boombox! After a disproportionate high-five, we power through evening chores, put the staff to bed, and start heading up the road. We reach a clearing I remember finding in the daylight and plop down and discuss our summers as they have progressed. We talk about our staff, cute girls, challenges we are scared of, everything while we remain blanketed under our metaphor. Blissfully, we chat away the moonless night. Already so much has happened, yet we have only just begun.
24/100
It is extremely convenient and exclusive to be so close to another camp. Abreu is just over a mile away to the West and I decide to take a half-day to walk over and visit our neighboring camp. I have already been at camp for nine days and have another three to go before I can take some days off. I definitely need to give my staff a breather for the evening. The afternoon is cool from last night's heavy rainfall and though I don't require a break during the brief hike, I take one anyways under the shade of a particularly large scrub oak. Like most rocks here, the ones surrounding me are covered in lichen, these being a brilliant shade of chartreuse. I stand up, convincing my inner demons once again my visit is a hangout and not a sabbatical starting after week one.
25/100
Completely new program is not a common occurrence on the Ranch, especially one which features motorized vehicles in the outdoors. The ATV program has been extremely controversial both for its perceived “recklessness” and for slightly non-Kosher LNT practices. I take the short hike up to the site, the 2-mile course has already been scouted out and rough-cut in the last few weeks. Currently, a wood chipper team and their beast devour the remains from the demo team's labor, lost beyond the tree line. I arrive at the middle of the meadow and face Northwest, pausing at the proposed location for the training course. Nearly the entire 214 square miles of the Ranch sprawls out in front of me, a complete view obstructed by the stunning Sangre de Cristos. It's hard to believe they conceal 315 miles of trails, double if roads are accounted for. The fervor and sheer volume of hate and outrage the Ranch has been receiving about the program is staggering. How can so many people form such harsh, uninformed opinions? I chuckle to myself, remembering we don't have the quads yet, nor any information on when the first course will be conducted. Some people must be compelled to hear the sound of their own dissenting voice.
26/100
Conservation is one of the many departments backcountry staff have the pleasure of working with at Philmont. One of the specialty teams involves a group of guys who are solely dedicated to chipping and mulching, this year; Work Crew Whiskey. Armed with mechanized teeth and elbow grease, our destructive quartet has been preparing the ATV course for the last few days. Up just slightly after dawn, they try to work in the limited cool of the morning, returning only for a brief shade and water break during lunch. In the evenings however, they usually join us for dinner, fajita night being no exception. In they walk, clothes reeking of tree sap which thankfully masks the smell of hard manual labor. We share stories and tortillas, reminiscing about prior summers while winged insects bounce off the screen door late into the evening.
27/100
Up until now, we have only had participants pass through our camp during the morning, none have been overnight guests. This is unique to our camp in that we only host campers on their last night in the backcountry. Ten days ago, the first crews hit the trail which means tomorrow our first crews will be asking us where they can set up their tents. I am suddenly reminded of two things. First, I have been at camp entirely too long. Second, I will be leaving my staff, alone, by themselves, for the first time, for three days. I sigh deeply and try not to over-analyze; a walk feels like a great idea. I slip out and slip into my usual rhythm and so does my mind, easing with each step I put between me and the cabin. Another species of cacti appear to be flowering, “escobaria vivipara”, the nature book later reveals, “a wide range of habitats, from Mexico all the way north to Canada“. It is less than two inches wide and sports a brilliant fuchsia flower. If it can thrive, so can I, and so can they.
28/100
I am positively wracked with cabin-fever, but finally, my days off have arrived. I start to boil water for my morning carafe of coffee and begin cleaning the cabin with my staff. They seem quieter than usual, perhaps I am broadcasting my apprehensions on my face. I snarf down my usual peanut-buttered white toast with honey and head down to the main cabin to finish packing and go over some final details with Jimmy, who I am leaving in charge for my first three day leave of absence. We raise the flags, New Mexico's red and yellowbrightly glow in the blinding sun. I remind Jimmy about the fickle water pump and listening to the radio with keen vigilance. I couldn't be more confident he will know what to do with our first crews having worked at several other camps before. I retreat to my room, stuff my sleeping bag, wrangle and secure my camera gear, and apply generous amounts of sunscreen to my extremities. I have us all reconvene at the sundial for a 30 second pep rally. With my emotions set to “convincing/empathetic”, I tell them I know they will do a fantastic job upholding my expectations operating camp; William Wallace would have been proud of my delivery. I strap on my pack and loudly announce my departure to the entire camp. Two other Camp Directors have come to rescue me and we quickly disappear into the dense wilderness; freedom has arrived.
29/100
The plan is to make an expedient detour through base camp, stopping only for cold beverages and a quick trip to the lockers. Less than 15 minutes later, we are back on the road looking for the rocky and dusty turnoff, our lifeline to escape. Our exit arrives and we veer onto a dirt highway, the vehicle's basic suspension bangs and rattles sickeningly. Thankfully, the road ends and we pile out, strapping on boots and packs, disappearing quickly into the wilderness once again. Up and up, switchback after switchback, we climb. My thighs are screaming and the map confirms today's afternoon hike is nearly all uphill. I stumble over another crest, chest heaving and searching for oxygen. I turn my gaze upon the ground and spot a douglas fir seedling seemingly sprouting out of a rock. I chuckle to myself. A little uphill never killed anyone.
30/100
The ascent continues until we triumphantly reach the top of the mesa - a nearly silent victory - our wheezing disturbs the sound of the wind blowing through the grasses. We take a quick breather in the shade to confirm our bearings and ETA for camp this evening; at least another hour of hiking is ahead of us. The grumbling in my stomach reminds me that I need more than only toast for breakfast on hiking days. I take another sip of water and notice a large boulder nestled behind some pines. The smooth yet jutted surface has whorls like truffles, ranging in color from roast chestnut to raw cashew. It dawns on me that I have an “emergency” bag of trail-mix stashed deep in my pack. After a few handfuls we press on, the heat of the day still upon us, thankfully mottled through tall forest limbs. I think about kicking my boots off and lazily swaying on the porch swing and my pace quickens. Or maybe it was the M&M's.
Summer 100: #41-50
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant...
Summer 100: #41-50
41/100
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant memorials; it becomes increasingly obvious the bridge has had a history with suicide. Firmly, I grab the waist-high railing and peer over the edge, it looks to be over 500 feet. I immediately remember a time when I dove off a mere 15-foot cliff into moving water. Time took forever. I notice my friends taking their own moments of reflection and angst. Thankfully, the herds of geriatric tourists clutter at the edge of the bridge's span, their fears granting us an unadulterated experience of the abyss.
42/100
Large cumulonimbus clouds heavy with rain have been forming all day. Looming, they begin to overtake the sun; the red gorge walls cease casting harsh shadows, giving us an entirely new view. I spot a distant shopping cart camouflaged among the rocks and remember the nearest grocery store must be over ten miles away. Nearly a two hour drive from camp and with rain imminent, we decide to leave early and enjoy the scenic route home. Before heading for the car, I stop and take in the grandeur a final time, planting myself at the vertical intersection of river and bridge. A modern-day solution for a stream crossing. The wind begins to gust and the temperature drops another five degrees; time to go.
43/100
Our winding descent back to basecamp flies by, the late afternoon sun lights up the valley. The journey ends and we pull up to the dirt parking lot and try to find an open space in a sea of dusty second-hands. We meet up with some more friends who are in the process of making dinner plans. A few more people begin trickle in while a few others toss a Frisbee back and forth. Sean, the Camp Director of Whiteman Vega, mumbles something about “later”, as he tinkers inside his currently non-operational leviathan truck. Car trouble is always a hassle, but when the nearest parts shop is an 80 mile round-trip away, fixing things becomes a headache. The sun has begun to set and I know he won't be too far behind us.
44/100
Jumping in the cars once again, we venture into Cimarron for another meal out; a new barbecue joint has recently opened up in town. We cruise, windows down, along the four-mile straight stretch of road, it is the main access in and out of the Ranch. Wind loudly whips through my hair and ears while setting sun-rays bathe the car and mountains in warmth. Nicole, the Camp Director at Fish Camp, has graciously volunteered to be our sober driver for the evening, a favor and chore any good staffer will reciprocate. Surprisingly, in our numerous years of shared tenure, this is the first time we have hung out socially. I suddenly realize the car is full of people who fit the same description. Most of us have to be at back at our respective camps the following afternoon. However tonight, we celebrate; our camps haven't burned down...yet.
45/100
We pull up along the familiar stretch of town in search of this new barbecue joint aptly referred to as “Smokehouse”. Quickly spotting it, I can't help but notice this is the third restaurant in five years to occupy the same space. Still, my hopes remain high. We park, place our orders, and wander out to the patio to wait and relax. The food and mosquitoes begin to arrive. Paperwork is bemoaned. Sauces are ranked. Days-off recounted. We finish and all give each other a knowing and silent nod; it is time for the bar. All satisfied to have found another eatery, we exit. Looking up, I notice the store adjacent to where we parked, Buffalo Nickel, bares a sign with their painted name and date, 1909. The mortar and stone have definitely seen more than three restaurant changes.
46/100
Plopping down atop the small table kept on the porch, I scan my hot and dusty territory. Camp operations functioned smoothly during my leave of absence, however, a few staff members haven't been getting along entirely well. Their recent flare-up has given me a unique challenge to sort out and I take some time to process. A small scout with legs black from sweat and dirt quietly rummages through the swap box, a receptacle for trading unopened and unused food. Camp is unusually calm for such a warm afternoon, perhaps crews destined for us have decided to take an extended lunch break. Noticing a small scurrying dot on the long concrete slab, I swat away buzzing flies and get down to examine close-up; eight eyes stare back at me. Although not yet large enough to tackle our overwhelming fly problem, I sweep my new friend to safety. Fortunately, my code only allows me to kill things which have wings and legs with a value greater than two.
47/100
I awake to the clamoring sounds of departing crews on our porch. Their combined excitement, boots, and brotherhood before 7 a.m. are far too raucous without sufficient waking up. Postponing my coffee ritual, I quickly throw on my whiffy 4-day-old shirt and tattered Arborwears and take off for the quiet ATV course. Unexpectedly, the entire landscape is overcast, gray with moisture. Heavy, cool air clings to my jacket while dew sparkles and glints; nature's chandelier. Every leaf, flower, and blade of grass is covered in damp stillness. The silence I so desperately crave has finally greeted me. Good morning.
48/100
Finishing my walk, I pause at the fence line to catch my breath before descending into camp. I glance at my watch; everyone should be awake and functioning, but past experiences tell me I need to double-check. The newness of camp has definitely started to wear off, June gloom is upon me. I make my way back towards the cabin and try to work out a few more ideas to help my staff get along better. Coach, chef, cheerleader, counselor; these are some of the many job requirements I find myself needing on a daily basis. Entering the kitchen, I notice a few staff members absent. Grabbing an apron, I offer eggs to those who are hungry. It's time for a change.
49/100
Crews come and go as does cloudy mornings and rainy afternoons. It seems like I blinked and July has arrived, the last six days have been long and similar. Last week's moth-in-ear-canal and today's first ATV crew are major events my mind strings together in some sort of surreal movie storyboard. Our two ATV Specialists, John and Jimmy, grab as many chest protectors as they can and prepare to head up to the course in order to instruct our first group who just arrived. I know they are as nervous as I am, but I reassure them today is going to be a fun test to prove what they already know. They disappear past the bridge and I return to a half-dozen new crews and unfilled forms which need my attention. I wish I could debrief them about how the course went, but my meeting on the 4th has forced me to leave camp a day earlier than I had planned. Eight miles of steady uphill lie ahead of me, monsoon season has just arrived and getting caught in a storm is not ideal. Camp remained intact during my last set of days and I know the same will be true for this set. My staff have started to become more confident and I don't think it's my imagination.
50/100
Once again, I am awoken by overly zealous scouters. I lie swaddled in my sleeping bag, fearing to move my limbs. In my haste to leave camp yesterday, I neglected to bring any water or snacks. Today, I should be a veritable Tin Man. Fish Camp's double hung windows emit a dim blueish glow and I sit up to have a look outside. It's completely socked in! Slowly, I get up and dress myself and wander into the kitchen and attempt to find something to eat. Nicole confirms our departure time, the goal is to head into basecamp via Phillips Junction to meet up with a few other CD's. I decide to take a walk around camp to try and warm up my aching bones; the weather is far too inviting and mysterious to hitch a ride back to base. I walk along the Rayado, in between aspen and yarrow, my knees and back begin to loosen. The stillness is invigorating.
Summer 100: #51-60
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular...
Summer 100: #51-60
51/100
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular road, having hiked it many times throughout my years spent on the Ranch, but I have never witnessed it like this before. Fog is a rare treat during the summer months and I struggle to contain my excitement. Looming pines glare down upon us, their boughs and trunks disappear into gray murkiness. Dense, moist silence amplifies the babbling Rayado and crunching gravel beneath our boots. Each crest and fork holds the possibility of an entirely new landscape. I sense our destination is getting close, but in this light, how can I really be sure?
52/100
Continuing along the hazy highway, my mind drifts and quickly I find myself obsessing about tomorrow's conclave. Throughout the summer, there are two mandatory all-day meetings Camp Directors and Backcountry Managers attend, our first one is tomorrow. Undeniably I am destined for hard plastic and cold florescence. Less than thrilled, I set my sights on celebrating Independence Day the day after, surely this will keep me motivated. I trudge onward, not even having reached Phillips Junction and already I have flipped my decision on accepting a ride; yesterday's water-bottle incident continues to teach my tendons new lessons. Hydrate, or, well...
53/100
I take another swig from my Dr. Pepper and Wild Turkey, excusing myself from one of today's many barrel races; yesterday's meeting feels like a hallucination. Opting out of unsavory and crowded bathrooms, I wander past our parked cars and into the adjacent school's baseball field. Styrofoam cups and tumble weeds collect in overgrown dugouts, this dugout being no different. Hot, noon-day sun beats down upon me, occasionally interrupted for a gentle, warm breeze which floats through the rodeo grounds. Fourth of July is shaping up to be a spectacular day!
54/100
After a quick detour through the food booth, I make my way back to my uncomfortably angular bleacher seat, chili dog in hand. Pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and kettle corn flow freely while our section cheers during the ensuing cattle roping event. Yips of “c'mon now!” and loud whistles emanate from the grandstands. Evening plans are quickly and effortlessly hashed out; the annual fireworks show over Eagle Nest Lake is a crowd favorite and not to be missed. And there's always the bar on way home. Blissfully, we chat away our afternoon in shade from the awnings, occasionally glancing up at the massive blue expanse. Who needs a beach?
55/100
The vast majority of backcountry staff are busy at their respective camps, however, plenty of staff who work from basecamp have a flexible afternoon and can attend the rodeo. Next to me is Jamie, an old friend who has continuously worked in Health Lodge, now called Infirmary due to some important legislature. I remember back to 2011, she was fortunately at camp and helped administer first aid to my index finger when I stupidly sliced it wide open with my pocket knife. In 2012, we both sat front row at the very same rodeo and snapped photos of the Mutton Busting event. Last year, she visited camp frequently to shoot guns, bake cookies in our wood-burner, and transport altitude sickness cases. This year, a group of us have plans to see a show at Red Rocks, an experience which has been on my checklist for quiet some time. I look around, stories and anecdotes of people I know unfold before me like a virtual pop-up book. Standing, we applaud the rider who just took a nasty fall; Jamie looks relieved to be off-duty.
56/100
I begin to take notice of some of the locals and realize my wardrobe is woefully ill-prepared. Shiny belt buckles and alligator shoes equally compliment coordinated pearl snaps and Stetson's. Grizzled, weather-beaten cowboys sit between cheering and supportive rodeo moms; young teens can be spotted canoodling in the extremities of the bleachers while fifth and sixth graders rope and wrestle each other in front of the grandstands. The Maverick Club Rodeo has been ongoing for over 90 years and it looks as though the entire town is here to show their support.
57/100
I sink my rear into the footwell of the bleachers, back resting against the rigid metal seating; it has always felt more comfortable to sit this way. Reaching for my empty beverage after already having tested its lack of fullness several times, I realize my afternoon has blown by, similar to the clouds which we had all watched earlier. Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the event. Pounding hooves and powerful whinnies can be made out over the chatting crowd and rambunctious children. And if I concentrate, even a whistling lasso or two can be heard.
58/100
Helping to bridge the gap between Backcountry and Ranger departments are Ranger Trainers, or RT. They have numerous responsibilities, but being a Liaison for a camp is a universally agreed upon perk of the job. I have known Stuart for a few summers and this year he is our Liaison. Whether in uniform or not, high-waisted shorts and Chacos seem to be a personal requirement. Taking advantage of Zastrow's accessibility, he has visited a few times; checking in with our staff and always making a point to discuss photography and cameras.
59/100
We park our car on the shoulder of a familiar mountain road and gather our blankets and jackets during waning moments of dusk. A winding trail of car lights slowly descend into Eagle Nest; one of the few places to see a fireworks show. Munching on chips and Twizzlers, we joke and laugh the remaining light away. A solitary flash and distant bang alerts us to the show's arrival. Two years ago, I remember seeing the fireworks explode directly over the water; its receded bank a visual testament of continued drought. Bruce Springsteen crackles over a distant cell phone speaker. Conditions may change, but the ritual is still just as familiar as it ever was.
60/100
Already another week has elapsed at Zastrow. Program has been functioning smoothly, only one day of rain has soured dutch oven cobbler-cooking. Our greatly anticipated National Inspection team was here yesterday; nothing of demerit stood out which we took for success. I even managed to squeeze in a concert at Red Rocks last night to celebrate, thanks in part to my flexible staff. Camp is momentarily empty during part of our evening program and I take advantage of this brief silence to appreciate the “blood-moon”. Its radiant orange hues slowly turn to a familiar bright yellow, as if ingesting all available light while it ascends. I transport myself to last night's saga, remembering it even watched over us while we were “collapsing and screaming at the moon”.
Summer 100: #61-70
I sit down at my cluttered desk after showering by lantern; it had been a few days since my last. Paperwork, letters, camera gear, shards of...
Summer 100: #61-70
61/100
I sit down at my cluttered desk after showering by lantern; it had been a few days since my last. Paperwork, letters, camera gear, shards of information constantly migrate on its surface, always in some state of disarray. I organize it in the mornings, but by nightfall, my hard work has seemingly been negated. I invert my headlamp into my water bottle and distance myself from the oil lantern. Although each room is fully-equipped with electric lights, a blessing and a curse, I find the constant thunking of moths against florescent tubes rather irritating. Under a bluish glow, I attempt to pen a few more letters, finally finding myself starting to relax. My days off are just around the corner once again; I make a mental note to make more notes for my staff during my leave. Already, two moths have invaded and drown in my bottle; perhaps it's time to go to sleep.
62/100
Efficiently, I pack my backpack and bolt for Jimmy's car only after thanking him profusely for its use. Although driving will save me roughly 25 miles, my slapdash and incomplete plan involves a fair amount of hiking during “danger hour”; monsoon season is currently in full-swing, especially during late afternoon. I make decent time on paved highway and carefully roll through a few miles of washboard road. Cloudy skies above me don't look promising, but regardless, I park at Ponil's parking lot and start walking. Miraculously the weather holds as I arrive at Pueblano, and as if on schedule, so does the downpour, washing away any desire I had to continue onward. I decide to spend the night, fortunately I know a few of the staffers. Sam and I worked in the same vicinity last summer, our paths crossed a few times. He shows me the work which went into cleaning their once musty and dusty tie shack; it looks great.
63/100
Set in 1914, Pueblano is one of two logging camps which offers spar-pole climbing, something which I still have yet to do. Although the rain has passed and clear skies prevail, perhaps there will be better weather next time- typical New Mexico. Jacob and I catch up on how our summer's are panning out. For the last few seasons, he worked in the Ranger Department and we chat about the transition to Backcountry. Everything seems to be going well, despite mid-summer cabin-fever. Loggerball, like baseball in reverse, is just about to start; staff are infamous for having an untarnished record against campers. He tries to recruit me for their evening game, but earlier, I had strategically offered to cook dinner for camp. Definitely a spectator sport.
64/100
Beneath my head the floor rumbles, a familiar sound of clamoring boots jolts me awake. A quick glance out a dusty screened window tells me dawn on my first full day has already broken. Three...two...one...a half...counting down silently, I force myself to sit up and begin packing; my daily schedule manifests with each piece of gear stowed away. Nearly finished, I scrounge around, finding my usual provision of strawberry Pop Tarts. I venture outside to warm my bones in the sun and begin aggressively hydrating. Along the river bank, tall grass droops under the weight of morning dew. Another gorgeous day, huzzah.
65/100
My last bite of breakfast disappears as I venture towards the staff tents to begin lacing up my boots. I find Patrick doing the same, getting ready to relieve a fellow staffer from early spar-poles; today was his rotation to sleep in. My staff have asked for a similar schedule despite already having one of the latest wake-up times for a backcountry camp. The South Ponil Creek quietly hums in the background while we sip our coffee. Strapping on my pack, I stow my cup and bid the magnanimous musical men farewell before quickly cross-referencing my map. I have not taken this trail - I am not going to get stuck in the rain.
66/100
Although not steep, the trail steadily gains altitude. Up, up, up, I feel as though I should be nearing my destination. My silent prayers seemingly answered, the trail crests and before it sprawls a familiar looking meadow. Miranda's trade tent is a distant white speck, dwarfed by the foothills of Mt. Baldy. I summited the 12,441' peak in 2012 and take a moment to lean against a rock, attempting to absorb some of the grandeur. A knot of excitement forms in my stomach as I reminisce over the difficulties and stupid choices which went into climbing Baldy, or for that matter any mountain. I remember my unlikely hiking buddies and how we randomly met. I remember not bringing enough food or water I remember trying to outrun dark and ominous storm clouds while quickly plunge-stepping down loose boulders. I think would do it again. Maybe next year. Maybe.
67/100
Large, puffy clouds float East high above the expansive meadow; it seems as though today's afternoon storm has passed by. A few other visiting staff and I sit and talk inside the dimly lit cabin, calmly enjoying our lack of responsibilities and current emergencies. After a hearty meal of stew and fresh baked bread, the evening's activities are ready to commence. Everyone makes their way down into the meadow as the sun begins to dip below the contour line. Three teams are efficiently split up while rules are briefly discussed. Five bases are pointed out and home rock is flipped to determine first team up to bat. When the rock drops, madness ensues; let the games begin! I may not have been able to keep all of the rules straight, but one thing remained clear from their game-ending chant: neighboring camps who request meat products better not be harboring any vegetarians.
68/100
Sunrise happens much too early at Miranda. I fumble dumbly, finding my wristwatch under a sock; the time reads 6:24. It's supposed to be my day off. I awake inside the cabin to find a few people already sweeping and convince myself to begin dressing. As I begin to pack, I remember making plans with Carter to hike today. First, I decide to investigate a large grove of aspens along their meadow while the low morning light illuminates the pale trunks. Wild flowers, large saplings, fallen trees, everything is drenched in dew, even my pants and spare pair of shoes. Up ahead, I hear him chuckling and pointing to his monstrous custom moccasins, a muzzle-loader over one shoulder. “Totally worth it”, he proclaims; a sentiment I slowly find myself agreeing with on many different levels.
69/100
The learning curve for throwing a 'hawk firmly into your target is steeper than expected and staff spend a fair amount of time sharpening the ever-dulling blades. Frequently inside the cabin, a rough scraping noise emits from rusty files being drawn across tomahawk heads. I find Nick at the dining table utilizing a spare fifteen minutes to stay ahead on maintaining program supplies. For mountain men, everything seems to be about preparation. A well-oiled gun, sharp tomahawk, sturdy shoes, each item needs to be in top shape for tracking down big game. I see a crew awaiting instruction from the porch; he doesn't hesitate in sticking his first throw.
70/100
Each consecutive summer I work, I recognize fewer and fewer staff who started the same year I did. I remember the day I met Karl; it was the last week of summer and he had been transferred to our camp, helping us prepare to close down. Now, down at the end of their long and greasy table, I see him unfolding a small swatch of cloth and gesturing for me to join him. I sit down opposite of him and notice a few stacks of numberless cards, dried meat, and a rather large tomahawk. He quickly glosses over the rules; there's a twinkle in his eye. I have always known Karl to be a bit mischievous. I cautiously decide to play along.
Karl Hubbard Miranda Philmont Scout Ranch Cimarron New Mexico.
Summer 100: #71-80
Having secured most of my gear, I tell Carter I am nearly ready to leave. Taking a peek inside one of Miranda's heavily decorated trade tents...
Summer 100: #71-80
71/100
Having secured most of my gear, I tell Carter I am nearly ready to leave. Taking a peek inside one of Miranda's heavily decorated trade tents, I find Cody preparing to give a trade-talk with an approaching crew. Tools, utensils, large ropes of dried tobacco, and furs from varying small game adorn the tables, each item baring a story which waits to be told. With a firm handshake I wish him well before throwing on my pack and finally heading down the mountain. It's been two weeks since I last saw beer and there's a green chile burger with my name waiting for me at the bar. We waste little time.
72/100
Once again I find myself seated at one of the only restaurants in town, the St. James Hotel, this time for lunch. As far as I am concerned, there are few things better than eating a hot meal having directly come off of the trail. Shortly after ordering, our food arrives, and like slovenly kings, we feast. It occurs to me tonight is Abreu's Phil-Fiesta; a themed event where each camp picks one day to party and eat as much as possible. Noting the irony of food begetting food, we pay and exit. A weather-worn building I frequently park against catches my attention. Bold colors of the Southwest peel away from the crumbling wall, a great reminder to reapply sunscreen.
73/100
Abreu and Zastrow are geographically very close, in fact, few if any camps share a neighbor as close as we do. My plan is to stop by my camp to ditch everything except crucial overnight gear and to take care of some business with a few of my staff. I am expected to return tomorrow morning, however, an unannounced visit will help set the tone needed for my brief discussions. Quickly, I take care of my business, grab my lightened pack, and wrangle up my friends; time to party. We head out and begin the leisurely walk to Abreu; it's a good thing I have one more night off.
74/100
I take my heaping plate of food out onto the porch and begin stuffing my face; one of the many joyful benefits from constant exercise is the lack of anxiety over calorie consumption. A quickly setting sun dips behind the mountains, outrageous hues streak through heavy cloud cover, painting the sky in an explosion of warmth. Lavender and orchid, peaches and cream; an ethereal dream floats and flickers around me. The intensity only lasts for minutes before settling into a more familiar shade of dusk. Grabbing a knit beanie from my pack, I head back into the kitchen. Dessert is almost ready.
75/100
By now, most of the guests have left. Under dim oil lamps, a few people remain, gently swaying on rocking chairs and porch swings while muted guitar melodies twang over buzzing crickets and the humming Rayado. I sit back and reflect on the totality of my journey from the last several days; improvising and planning both played an equal role in the success of my set. In previous years I wouldn't nearly have been as brazen or as carefree. My knotted shoulders and sore hips remind me of how far I hiked the past two days. I glance over and find Ben also deep in thought. Perhaps it is time for bed.
76/100
Our horseshoe pit is almost dangerously too tiny; we need to make an addition. Future land development has been permanently obstructed on three sides by (1) a large, dense thicket of mature scrub oak, (2) our leach field, and (3) a 70 year-old apple tree planted by the camp's founder. The most plausible solution for expansion lies in removing a hideous stump with vulgar juniper bushes growing from its base. My passion for having this atrocity eliminated is akin to old men and their need to silence noise disturbances. However, the stump is enormous and the afternoons are sweltering, our shovels are small and our time is limited. Gordon found me obsessing and in an encouraging tone proclaimed “mountains are tall and rivers are wide.” So we started digging. And digging. We dug for two weeks. And when it all seemed like too much, we even got a little help from out friends. Proof that if you dig it, they will come, even if it's in the form of a bulldozer.
77/100
All crews who camp overnight at Zastrow are spending their last night in the backcountry. Part of our evening program involves a somber ceremony in which we ask the participants to silently reflect on their trek and personal journey through Scouting. Towards the beginning of summer, I empowered my staff to accomplish and improve this area of program without relying on my help. My main intention was to give them something to grow and be proud of, but also to capitalize on 20 minutes of quiet during dusk; hopefully a recipe for success in passive leadership. So far, so good. As I glance upwards at the dim and nearly cloudless sky, I notice dozens of headlamps flickering and bobbing down our Northern hill as campers return from the ceremony. The skies indicate we might even be able to offer Astronomy program tonight, a first in days.
78/100
It's uncomfortably hot—again. The preponderance of flies has been driving me insane. I angrily swat a few more away from my pasty legs, sweltering heat has driven me to wearing shorts. Tomorrow cannot arrive quickly enough; never have I wanted to take my days off more than I do now. June feels like it was eons ago, late August seems impossibly distant. Midsummer doldrums are undoubtedly effecting my staff as well, perhaps I'll let them sleep in tomorrow. Reflexively, I smack my tingling neck with an open palm. Stunned and still buzzing, I finish him off with the horseshoe in my other hand. “Thirty-eight!”, I gleefully shout towards the main cabin.
79/100
Noon arrives and I couldn't be happier. Although this set will be a day shorter due to the second Camp Director meeting which is in a week, I still have plenty of desire to hike. Practically skipping, I make it to the cars in under 15 minutes. Engine roaring to life, sunglasses on, windows down, I take off down our bumpy dirt road. Just before exiting onto the main highway, I cross under power-lines which are responsible for Zastrow's power. An invisible and impossibly long corridor explodes out in front of me. Visions of dolly zooms and mirrors endlessly reflecting play out into the horizon.
80/100
My borrowed car skids to stop at the turnaround. I get out, lace up my boots, and hit the trail. With only a few more open days left in my schedule for hiking, I based my evening's destination purely by trail preference. As I continue onward, the air becomes heavier with moister; distant rumbles of thunder encourage me to pick up my pace. I cross over the North Fork dozens of times, eventually losing count. Delicate wildflowers and dainty waterfalls decorate my path, a lushness found in few other places on the Ranch. Not much further on, I find myself in a familiar grove of aspens. I must be getting close.
Summer 100: #81-90
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for...
Summer 100
Summer 100: #81-90
81/100
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for Stomp, an almost historically accurate musical extravaganza, which is sure to entertain. A few staff carrying lanterns and cumbersome instruments head towards the smaller cabin with dozens of people following in tow. I grab a few more cookies before making my way over, eventually finding a decent seat towards the back. With little notice, the ensemble explodes to life, the entire show interrupted only by raucous clapping and laughing from the crowd. I take my unspoken cue during the last song and begin heading back towards the main cabin as to avoid any rush. I turn around to see a mass of headlamps flickering on, illuminating the dense darkness around them. Camper exodus never lasts long.
82/100
Since early morning, heavy clouds have been passing through camp, threatening us with rain. Only in the last half hour has their decision changed, an ever increasing pitter-patter of droplets can be heard on our tin kitchen roof. I finish my dinner and tell my staff to hold off from starting charcoal for our cobbler dutch oven feast while I scout weather conditions. A quick jaunt up to our meadow reveals just how socked in we are— looks like we are making eight cakes tonight. When a Scout has had their expectations set on cobbler for 12 days, cake is severely lacking in culinary appeal. I have had to deliver worse news though, perhaps I'll even get a small slice.
83/100
Obligated from the immediate need to start charcoal, I decide to take advantage of the ominous silence in our secluded meadow. Four more days remain until the second Camp Director meeting; it has been hard to quiet my apprehensions. Tomorrow brings the start of August, my final set of days-off begins the day after. There are so many camps I have neglected to visit. I still need to type up the second half of my report and I have yet to hear back on my application to work during fall. I take a breath, deeply filling my lungs with clean mountain air. I try to feel support from the damp rock on which I sit, and slowly, I return to our meadow. Cake nights are insanity– loud music and teenage boys tweaked on sugar– but there is little else I would rather be doing.
84/100
My staff are confident and comfortable with running camp in my absence and require no input before my departure. I snarf my breakfast, smear on sunscreen, and switch on my earbuds. Seven strenuous miles up the Rayado, my rendezvous point takes me along a familiar route I have hiked countless times before. Famed for a particular section of trail, “the Notch' is a perilous passage through a windy and narrow section of exposed rock. The crossing is barely wider than my arm span and I recall the stories of dynamite and labor it took to carve this mountain. Most people stop to admire the grand vista, but the rocks are more breathtaking today.
85/100
My trail continues upward through dense pine and heavy underbrush. I begin to descend and the scenery no longer feels foreign, a sign my destination is nearing. Radiant afternoon sun bathes the river's banks with warm hues. Swarms of gnats glint in the haze while massive bees buzz back and forth between black-eyed Susans. Trout dart upstream into shadows and crows caw upon my arrival. It would seem as though Mother Nature has granted me quite a welcoming party; I know Fish Camp and its staff will uphold her standards.
86/100
Last night's sleep on Fish Camp's couch has completely refreshed my spirit and aching quads; I feel unstoppable. To bypass starting a fire in the wood-burner, coffee is made with water boiled on a portable backpacking stove, then slowly poured through a paper filter resting precariously on one's cup. A flash from my years spent at other interp camps reminds me that this morning's process is pure novelty. Taking care not to spill, I also grab the book I picked up yesterday and mosey outside, situating myself in 'the ring'– a 4-foot wide suspended metal ring thick enough for one person to comfortably slink against. The weather couldn't be more idyllic, hopefully it holds for our baseball game later this evening. Skimming for my place, I realize I am more than two-thirds complete. Perhaps I can finish before we leave, there isn't any room in my pack for rentals.
87/100
Go-time is here. I cinch my pack and hoist it onto a waiting chair, shift my weight, then my waist. My eyes fall on a small patch of wilting black-eyed Susans; miniature sundials marking the passage of time by their withering petals. I am fully aware today will be my last hiking day this summer–a fruitless notion–but one I cannot move past. We say our farewells and begin to hike, the Rayado deeply hums while trees gently sway with the breeze. I am so very far from finished.
88/100
After showering and scouring off the majority of my last week off, I make my way over to the Villa Philmonte's vast lawn. Softballs thwack into mitts as both sides begin to warm up, voluminous clouds effortlessly drift above our massive green; what a perfect day for a baseball game! I catch an unmistakable scent of hot dogs and popcorn, looks like dinner has been taken care of. Tonight's friendly match determines a “winner” of a two-part baseball series between Backcountry and Ranger leaderships. Our rivalry is comically overstated, but having won the first game, it is apparent the Rangers are hungry for more than just hot dogs.
89/100
I watch as the scoreboard is hoisted into the air, proudly displaying the game's final for all to see; it was a blowout. From the corner of my eye, I catch a water cooler-shaped blur racing towards amassing celebratory yellow shirts. In one swift motion, the entire contents is dumped onto Matt's shoulders as he lurches forward, attempting to avoid the icy torrent. Even though we lost by a fair margin, seeing the opposing team's plush mascot stolen and high-tailed across the Villa lawn into a waiting getaway minivan made for a pretty spectacular seventh-inning stretch. After all, it's all just a game; might as well have some fun.
90/100
Boundless talks about gather during yesterday's meeting has left me feeling drained and restless. Alone in a sea of people, I wander building to building, mind racing, searching for familiar faces. Past staff members manifest momentarily, a mental mirage generated from previous summers. I desperately want to leave basecamp, but the thought of returning to camp tomorrow morning doesn't sit well either. Hopefully I find a friend going into town who wants some lunch. My days are dwindling. I must finish strong.
Summer 100: #91-100
One more successful astronomy program has just concluded; it's late and cloudless. I can still make out a handful of...
Summer 100
Summer 100: #91-100
91/100
One more successful astronomy program has just concluded; it's late and cloudless. I can still make out a handful of softly twinkling stars, despite a waxing moon which is due to be full in a few days. Crisp shadows fall from every tree, the intense glow blankets our vast property in brilliant blue and stunning silence. Nearly lost in a sea of trees, our little hut dimly radiates back out into the wilderness. A soft breeze gently rustles my windbreaker; thankfully the crickets have decided to turn in early.
92/100
Crews sleeping overnight have already retreated to their respective camps to start cooking dinner, a good indication we should begin as well. Sitting up from the porch, I take my current stack of paperwork and hurl it onto my desk—undoubtedly due for another cleaning. Turning towards the kitchen, I catch a shimmer of color through the trees at the end of our road. As our visitor approaches, he slowly reveals a cloven hiking buddy. A wide-brimmed straw hat and braided goatee protrude underneath a boldly striped poncho. Having worked with Ian for a summer, it's good to see him with his hair down, so to speak.
93/100
With only ten days left until the end of the season, most camps are experiencing a decrease in the amount of crews they see. However, as one of the last outposts in the backcountry, we have been utterly swamped and the crew-load forecast shows little mercy. My staff have been working hard, continually putting participant's needs over their own and it has only gotten more challenging. Chuckling to myself, I remember the spurious write-up I received two summers ago for napping—a contemptible offense in my superior's inexperienced eyes. My staff deserve to rest, I know they will finish strong.
94/100
Tonight, program delivery for some of my staff was far from ideal. The time for competency has elapsed, I expect more effort—especially this late in the season. As a result of our blunder, not a single member from any crew stayed for an astronomy talk. Sitting down by the horseshoe pits, I stew over tonight's actions in our quiet camp; a perfect container for my turgid thoughts. Negativity nearly consuming me, I stand, turning my attention to the cosmos. Perhaps this energy needs to be redirected, not quelled. I still have plenty of light.
95/100
Just as Jimmy and I finish with one of our final ATV sessions, shady, dense clouds drift towards our rescue. This new program has collectively kicked us all in the pants and I know our staff aren't the only ones working hard at keeping things operational. For the last two weeks, we have been operating a five-hour certification course to preselected Rangers who have a 'day off'. Despite calm direction and informative demonstrations, our only injury worth observing was a broken clavicle from an overly-ambitious young man who seemed intent on earning more than his certification that particular day. After retreating to our cabin, one look at Jimmy's dusty, stoic mug tells me volumes.
96/100
Twinkling blackness entirely envelopes camp. Last night's radio readout still echoes in my ears, today marks the closure for hiking in the backcountry. Thankfully, both Carter and Jamie have stopped by to celebrate, having already spent most of the day baking. Nearly all of my staff are content with turning in early, but Jimmy decides to join us as we head up to our turnaround for a completely unobstructed view of the Milky Way. Lying underneath the shimmering expanse, we recount summer's highs and lows while satellites blink in and out of visibility. Spinning and spinning, time wanes on, yet I feel more at home than ever before.
97/100
We head into our Wood Badge museum to debrief after bidding our crews goodnight. Flickering lamp-light casts creepy shadows over dusty patrol flags and our mounted kudu head. Only two more days with participants lie ahead of us and I remind everyone they deserve equal, if not better, levels of enthusiasm. I swiftly address a few items concerning impending gather before getting to my second big announcement which is of little secret: ATV program has officially ended for the season. Cheerfully, we stand and head to kitchen. Cookies have always been a great way to celebrate.
98/100
I take another heaping armload of trash out to our bear box. My, or rather our, lovely chateau will be empty and vacant by tomorrow afternoon, returned to its original condition. Fortunately, we don't have to forcefully remove rat feces from any of our cabins which makes cleanup vastly more pleasant. Filling up my empty water bottle from the spigot, my attention is robbed by a small patch of sunflowers. Having recently bloomed, they serve a vibrant reminder our season must end, fall is on its way. I feel something cold hit my shoe; seems I overfilled.
99/100
Exiting the quaint coffee shop with my iced Americano, I wander through a few dilapidated alleyways, scanning over rusted out pickup trucks. My train ride is an hour behind schedule and Raton is not a memorable city. I find myself staring deeply into a bank of vacant windows, less than 24 hours have elapsed since our camp's gather. Taking another swig, I remember waking up out in front of the Backcountry Warehouse surrounded in a mountain of my own luggage to this morning's glorious sunrise. A causal passerby might have noted my bivouac as an excuse for lazy, drunken slumber. However, not once have I heard a declaration for less nights spent under a blanket of stars.
100/100
My journey West begins. From nowhere to backwater, from suburbs to cities, over and over again—it begins. Bouncing on bumps and rattling over rails, each knock jars me further into abstraction. Closing my eyes, I try to escape to my safe haven back in the wooded foothills. A stewardess crackles over the intercom. Flagstaff will be a smoking stop. I stare down at the blinking cursor on my laptop, my report is still unfinished. Shifting my attention to the window, I watch power lines scallop in and out of frame while the sun begins to set. Tipping back the rest of my beverage, I shut down my computer and put up my feet. And so, my wait begins.
About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.